The Eiger Sanction Read Online Free PDF

Sanction immediately. Mr. Dragon got me right on it.”
    Jonathan kissed her gently. “You're telling me that this backup man just sat next door and let this Wormwood get it?”
    “Another whiskey?”
    “No, thank you.” He stood up and drew her after him. “Where is it? Through there?”
    “The bedroom? Yes.” She followed. “You must know how they work, Hemlock. The backup man's assignment is to observe and report, not to interfere. Anyway, it seems they were testing a new device.”
    “Oh? What kind of device? I'm sorry, dear. These little hooks always confuse me.”
    “Here, I'll do it. They've always had a problem covering the movements and sound of the backup man when they stake him out in the next room. Now they've hit on the idea of having himmake noise, rather than trying to keep him quiet—”
    “Good God! Do you keep these sheets in the refrigerator?”
    “That's silk for you. What they're experimenting with is a tape recording of the sound of an old man's coughing—playing it day and night, advertising the presence of someone in the next room, but someone no one would imagine is an agent. Oh! I'm very sensitive there. It tickles now, but it won't later. Isn't that clever?”
    “The coughing old man? Oh, yes, clever.”
    “Well, as soon as Mr. Dragon sent me the B-3611 form I got to work. It was pretty easy. The outside is particularly good for me.”
    “Yes, I sensed that.”
    “It seems this Wormwood wasn't a total incompetent. He wounded one of the two men. The backup agent saw them leave the hotel, and even from the window he could tell that one of them was limping. The other one—the one who wasn't hurt—must have been panicked. He ran—Oh, that is beautiful!—He ran into a lamppost across from the hotel. When he stopped to recover, the backup man recognized him. The rest was—agh! Agha!—the rest was easy.”
    “What's the mark's name?”
    “Kruger. Garcia Kruger. A very bad type.”
    “You're kidding about the name.”
    “I never kid about names. Oh-a-ar! Graggah!”
    “What do you mean, he's a bad type?”
    “The way he got Wormwood. He—Oh, God! He... He...”
    “Press down with the soles of your feet!”
    “All right. Wormwood swallowed a pellet he was carrying. Kruger went after it with a knife. Throat and stomach. Oh! Adagrah! Oh, yes... yes...”
    “Read much Joyce?”
    She forced words out through a tight jaw, small squeaks of air escaping from her contracted throat “No, Agh! Why do you ask?”
    “Nothing important. What about the other man?”
    “The one who limped? Don't know yet. Not a professional, we're sure of that.”
    “How do you know he's not a professional?”
    “He got sick while Kruger was working on Wormwood. Threw up on the floor. Ogha? Ogah? Arah-ah-agh-ga-gahg!” She arched her strong back and lifted him off the bed. He joined her in release.
    For a time there were soft caresses and gentle pelvic adjustments.
    “You know, Hemlock,” her voice was soft, relaxed, and a little graveled from effort. “You really have magnificent eyes. They're rather tragicomic eyes.”
    He expected this. They always talked about his eyes afterwards.
    Some time later, he sat on the edge of the tub, holding up a rubber sac in an unsuccessful attempt to allow water to seek its own level. Part of his charm lay in these little attentions.
    “I've been thinking about your gun, Hemlock.”
    “What about it?”
    “The information sent up by Mr. Dragon indicated you used a large caliber.”
    “True. I have to. I'm not much of a shot. Finished?”
    “Uh-huh.”
    They dressed and had another whiskey in the sterile living room. In detail, Miss Arce went over the daily habits and routine of Garcia Kruger, answering questions raised by Jonathan. She ended with: “It's all in the tout we amassed. You should study it then destroy it. And here's your gun.” She gave him a bulky brown package. “Will I see you again?”
    “Would that be wise?”
    “I suppose not. May I